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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27184537">meteor showers &amp; comet dust</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/summermoonsdawn/pseuds/spookysp_ace'>spookysp_ace (summermoonsdawn)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A sliver of fluff at first, Angst, Atsumu loves him sm, Daichi... loves.. him sm, Death is not Graphic, Firefighter Daichi, Heavy Angst, M/M, Pro Volleyball Player Miya Atsumu, You've been warned, lyrics from "safe &amp; sound" by hayd, mind the angst, mind the fucking MCD tag, numerous meteor metaphors</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:27:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,883</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27184537</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/summermoonsdawn/pseuds/spookysp_ace</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Atsumu is 25, and he’s on the top of the world.</p><p>Atsumu is 25, and he’s an asteroid, floating through space, no earth in sight.</p><p>-</p><p>Or, an accident happens in a building fire.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Sawamura Daichi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>meteor showers &amp; comet dust</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i'm so sorry</p><p>i'm begging that you listen to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kiyp44wjqmI">Safe &amp; Sound</a> by Hayd either BEFORE or during reading. for maximum hurt.</p><p>again, i'm sorry. please mind the tags.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> I see us when I dream </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Dancing under emerald skies </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And I'm lost in your eyes </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I finally feel at peace </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>☆  ☆</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu is 25, and he’s on the top of the world.</p><p> </p><p>He’s a pro player for one of Japan’s best v-league teams. He’s in the middle of olympic training, has great friends–though <em> pick </em> and <em> tease </em> and maybe that’s because he himself is picky, about a lot of things.</p><p> </p><p>Sets. His spikers. Partners.</p><p> </p><p>When it came to Daichi, the stars must have heard desires.</p><p> </p><p>Because Daichi is–</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Everything. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He’s <em> the </em> boyfriend. He’s the person people write songs about, the one they wax poetry for. He’s the boyfriend who’s stable, grounded more than the earth itself. With Daichi, he never thinks he’ll collapse. He could theoretically continue stretching, pulling tight muscles, straight for the sky, through the atmosphere for <em> more </em>, and Daichi would hold his hand the entire way–a wide, beautiful smile on his face. His brown eyes shining in the darkness of the night, fingers running over Atsumu’s hands, pulling lips to his own.</p><p> </p><p>Daichi once described him as a meteor, flying fast to earth with no stop in sight––that was how Daichi felt when Atsumu crashed into his life.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu, for one, would like to state that Daichi was the meteora in his existence, a straight constant for four years. He’d never been a religious man, but after meeting, he thought Daichi could become his religion, if only to have his sweet smile everyday he woke up. Having that smile, and the cute gape behind one of his canines where a tooth was missing, pluralized in his life was something he never wanted to let go of.</p><p> </p><p>He is the meteorite that crashed into Atsumu’s skin like seering red hot iron; like the ice of a comet, flaring off his skin. He crashed.</p><p> </p><p>“Crashed,” Daichi chuckled, once, months, maybe years ago, “because you spilled your drink on me.”</p><p> </p><p>Their strange, melting pot, mix of friends–a soup created by these friends–had laughed at the retelling of how they’d met over a year ago. Suga with a full bellied laugh that took him more than five minutes to recover from, Bokuto clapping Atsumu’s back as if he hadn’t heard the story more than twenty times before, Osamu snorting under his breath, and Kita with a soft smile on his face, happy that he could introduce the two of them.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu had thought it was going to be awkward, with his ex-boyfriend introducing him to his own ex-boyfriend–<em> you get an ex, and </em> you <em> get an ex, </em> and <em> you get an ex– </em>but it had been two years since Atsumu and Kita had broken up midway in his third year of high school. So, he’d tried to keep an open mind about it.</p><p> </p><p>Open mind, being, a couple of drinks at the little get together that Kita had thrown, since Atsumu had been given little to no information about who Sawamura Daichi was. His social media presence was <em> small </em>but also, on private. Atsumu had gone into meeting Daichi knowing that he was a fireman, working at one of the stations in Osaka, and had been since he’d moved from Miyagi after high school. </p><p> </p><p>He’s 20 when he meets Daichi.</p><p> </p><p>He saw him, Daichi, coming into the apartment with Kita, and he almost drowned in the saliva that pooled in his mouth.</p><p> </p><p><em> I’m gonna talk to him, </em>he’d thought.</p><p> </p><p>He was going to be <em> smooth, </em> and <em> cool, </em>and say something like “Yer shirt seems a little tight? Need help gettin’ it off?”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu is 25, and he loves Daichi like sunlight reflecting off a comet.</p><p> </p><p>“No, instead of doing that, he trips,” Daichi laughed, wrapping his hand around Atumu’s own, squeezing. “He trips, and spills his drink all over me.”</p><p> </p><p>“It worked though!” Atsumu groaned, trying to push back the red flaming over his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Which part?” Daichi smiled, pressing gentle lips on Atsumu’s cheek.</p><p> </p><p>“Ya know,” Atsumu waved his hands in the air, feeling more embarrassed. “<em> You.” </em></p><p> </p><p>The dark haired man laughed again, baritone deep and soothing across his skin. “It did baby. It worked.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>☆  ☆</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Atsumu is 25, and he’s in the locker room of the Olympic training center in Tokyo–hours from Osaka, hours from Daichi. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll see you this weekend,” Daichi’s voice soothes through the line of their phones. He’d wanted to visit the weekend before, but the station had been called for extra help with a large building fire. He’s visiting this weekend and Atsumu is–</p><p> </p><p>Thrilled. Nervous. Excited.</p><p> </p><p>They’ve been dating for five years now. And he’s <em> ready. </em></p><p> </p><p>An alarm suddenly cried in the background, along with an array of voices.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Sawamura! Loverboy can wait, come on!” </em></p><p> </p><p>Daichi chuckled, a calm sound despite the loud sirens. “I gotta go, don’t cause everyone too much trouble.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dai-kun!” He laughed. “I would never.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll call you after your practice, okay ‘Tsum?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Atsumu sniffed, “And I’ll see you this weekend. But Dai?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Be careful?”</p><p> </p><p>“Always.”</p><p> </p><p>The phone beeps through his ear, and he’s smiling. Smiling at the background that grins back at him–Daichi, with Atsumu’s lips pressed against his cheek. It was from their last anniversary, when they’d travelled to Sendai, visiting Daichi’s family, before going to the Umino-Mori Aquarium.</p><p> </p><p>“You ready for this weekend?” Aran asks, coming beside him as their other teammates start to filter into the locker room.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu clears his throat. He’d only bought the ring a couple weeks ago, when he first got to Tokyo and they started their official Olympic training. The velvet box sat amongst his luggage in the facility dorms. “Well–”</p><p> </p><p>“What is this weekend?” Ushijima queries from nearby.</p><p> </p><p>“Atsumu-san is proposing!” Hinata bounces by, a mischievous grin taking over all of his features.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Ushijima nods, “Congratulations.” Kageyama, coming from behind, nods as well.</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa snorts nearby, and Atsumu sends him a nasty glare.</p><p> </p><p>With a laugh, Aran claps Atsumu on the back. “I’m sure he’ll say yes.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu rubs the back of his neck, nervousness running down every one of his veins until it reaches his toes. Daichi did that to him. He gave him the flutters, the butterflies that talked about in gross romance films. He gave him warmth like a furnace in the middle of winter. </p><p> </p><p>There was nothing better than the love he felt for Daichi–sometimes overwhelming in how it overflowed his chest. Like the fountain of youth–</p><p> </p><p>Giving and giving and giving–Atsumu never thought he’d be one of the lucky ones to feel that kind of love. The wholesome kind that made a person want to run miles and miles in the winter, wish on dandelions, dance on stars and hold the sun in their hands without fear of it burning.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks guys,” Atsumu says.</p><p> </p><p>He lets himself this, as he always lets himself with Daichi.</p><p> </p><p>He lets himself breath, smile. He allows himself to feel the happiness they are all giving him.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>☆  ☆</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> And I'm... </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Safe and sound when you hold me </em>
</p><p>
  <em> No more monsters in my dreams </em>
</p><p>
  <em> In your eyes, I find peace </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>★  ☆</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>It’s after practice, with loud voices all around, in the locker room when he sees the blinking voicemail on his phone. </p><p> </p><p>It leers like a raven docked on a post. An ill omen waiting to receive him.</p><p> </p><p>He tries, desperately, to not panic.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>Dai &lt;3</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Missed call </em>
</p><p>
  <em> [48m ago] </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Dai &lt;3</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Voicemail </em>
</p><p>
  <em> [47m ago] </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Atsumu stares at the bright screen.</p><p> </p><p>At the two missed calls from Daichi’s station, from twenty and fifteen minutes ago.</p><p> </p><p>At the voicemail. At the two minutes of space it was caressing in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>There’s lead in his chest, crawling up his throat until he feels like choking, like he’s going to be sick.</p><p> </p><p>“Yaku-san! That save was so <em> cool!” </em>Hinata praises from behind him, voice echoing through the slamming of locker room doors.</p><p> </p><p>Hoshiumi squawks from further away, “What about <em> mine </em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Aran laughs. He thinks he hears Kageyama and Ushijima talking about dinner for the night.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu continues to stare. His phone acting as a beacon he couldn’t tug himself away from.</p><p> </p><p>Daichi never calls him during practice. </p><p> </p><p>The last time he did was two years ago, when Daichi’s grandmother had ended up in the hospital.</p><p> </p><p>The other voices dimmed behind him, before heavy steps had his ears tuning and dialing back.</p><p> </p><p>“Atsumu?” Aran asks from his side. Concern. There was concern ebbing from his soft tone.</p><p> </p><p>“Daichi called,” Atsumu mumbled, unaware that his teammates had paused their chatter. “He doesn’t call. Why’d he call? Why’d the station–they never–he doesn’t—“</p><p> </p><p>A hand rests on his shoulder, Aran squeezing the juncture. “He left a voicemail?” </p><p> </p><p>He gestures to the notification. The brightness of the name, the timestamp, like a hex Atsumu refused to touch.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>☆ ☆</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“Atsumu,” Daichi’s voice creaked through the speaker, “I’m sorry. I don’t–”</p><p> </p><p>Yells, screams, filled the background, filled over his voice, before a cough resounded instead.</p><p> </p><p>“–I don’t think I’ll be calling you after practice–”</p><p> </p><p>Another cough fell through–deep, churning, like dark smoke from the blackest wood.</p><p> </p><p>“–don’t forget–”</p><p> </p><p>“–don’t forget that I love <em> yo– </em>”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a crash. A sonic boom of a meteor shower, crackling through the receiver, particles falling.</p><p> </p><p>Falling.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>☆  ☆</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Atsumu presses <em> call </em>to the firehouse.</p><p> </p><p>“Is this Miya Atsumu?” the voice called—who was that again? The captain, Yuta?</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Atsumu breathes. Is he shaking? He’s shaking. The phone next to his ear feels like osmium. Heavy.</p><p> </p><p>The team is watching. The room is quiet. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry—” Yuta begins. Pauses. He hears her gulp.</p><p> </p><p>His heart pounds, slams, roars through his ears.</p><p> </p><p>“Please,” Atsumu whispers, feeling the ground—the stable ground, the hard ground, the earth—all of it, shattering beneath his feet. His stability, his home. “Please, don’t–”</p><p> </p><p>He screws his eyes shut, and his skin shudders. His existence starts to crack.</p><p> </p><p>“Atsumu-san, I,” and she chokes, her words cracking, “I’m sorry. The building—it collapsed and—”</p><p> </p><p>He fell. He dropped. Someone had their hand on his shoulder. Someone was asking him <em> what’s wrong? </em> He thought he heard another calling for the coach. <em> What’s wrong? What’s going on? Atsumu? Tsum-Tsum? </em></p><p> </p><p>“—no one made it. I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Someone get Osamu on the phone! </em>Someone else yells. It’s Aran.</p><p> </p><p>“––Sawamura–Daichi–He's gone. I’m so sorry–”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu is 25, and his world has come to a stop.</p><p> </p><p>Someone cries.</p><p> </p><p>Someone screams.</p><p> </p><p>He realizes that it’s him.</p><p> </p><p>That he’s the one on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>The ground is cool beneath his hands. Freezing, beneath the tips of his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Gone?” </em> He sobs, a well of salt bursting from his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Who’s gone?” He thinks he hears Hinata.</p><p> </p><p>“Somethin’s happened to Daichi–”</p><p> </p><p>“Daichi-san?” Hinata whispers. “What happened to Daichi-san?”</p><p> </p><p>“Daichi-san?” Kageyama questions.</p><p> </p><p>A door slams open further in the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Move!” Iwaizumi doesn’t yell, but it’s close to it, as he closes in on Atsumu. His shadow falls, the darkness croaks on them, on all of their shadows muddled together. “Atsumu? Atsumu can you hear me?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s gone,” Atsumu cracks.</p><p> </p><p>It’s all his body has left to say.</p><p> </p><p>A cry. There’s another cry. There’s another hand on his shoulder. It squeezes, and <em> squeezes– </em></p><p> </p><p>Atsumu is 25, and he’s an asteroid, floating through space, no earth in sight.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>★  ☆</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And then I wake up </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And remember that it's made up </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Here's to another day without ya </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry sorry sorry sorry</p><p>i swear the other two atsudai pieces i have in the works are MUCH happier, fluffier, and full of sweet goodness.</p><p>(i'm so sorry daichi)</p><p>feel free to scream at me on my <a href="https://twitter.com/spacedaichi">twitter</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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